


Jeeves and the 'Additional Duties as Needed'

by Lady Monocle (curtangel)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bondage, Dark, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Massage, Rough Sex, Sex Work, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24230536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curtangel/pseuds/Lady%20Monocle
Summary: Sex Work AU where valets are expected to keep their young master's libidos in line
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Other(s)
Kudos: 67





	1. The Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was originally a standalone fic - if you wish to read only it, feel free.

Jeeves was unsure what to make of his new employer. He was pleased, mind you, that the new master was young and clean. When your duties include servicing your employer sexually - youth and cleanliness are next to godliness. In this aspect of his duties, Jeeves would have had no complaints. He had been the pretty young thing to enough foul smelling lecherous old men that the idea of being the voice of experience (shall we say?) to a clean pleasant looking young man was something of a relief.

However, the offers of his services were repelled. When offered a relaxing massage, his employer agreed readily enough, but when it came time to remove the towel covering his middle area - the young man became quite insistent that he did not require any additional relaxation in that area. The visible tenting of the towel belied the statement. Jeeves excused this initial reticence as, perhaps, an emotional response to his recent dis-engagement.

When it continued, when the young man even seemed a bit frightened by his advances, Jeeves became concerned. Some inquiries told him that the previous valet wasn't well regarded in the community. It seemed possible to Jeeves that the previous valet had done something to frighten, hurt or take advantage of his employer. It was a delicate matter, but not entirely unknown.

Thankfully, before Jeeves had probed too deeply into this theory, the truth came to light: His employer had never been told of the "additional duties" of his valet. This was surprisingly uncommon, but happens occasionally when Uncle Willoughby assumes Uncle Tom told him who assumed Uncle George told him who assumed that the other boys would inform him through osmosis.

Meadowes was a lazy and poor valet. Once he realized he could get out of his "additional duties as needed" by not offering them - well, he didn't. 

Jeeves was an excellent valet - yet, he quailed a bit at the idea of explaining to his young naive employer the plain facts of the nature of their relationship. It was not Done. One did not frankly speak of the "additional duties" even with other valets - to explain them to his new employer was something that promised to be mortifying for them both.

So, he didn't. He would, of course, explain the matter quietly and simply if he chose to leave his position to do the spade work for any future valets. But in the meantime, Jeeves decided to take the matter slowly and gently. A touch here. A look there. And, if he just so happened on his employer in a compromising position with himself (he had the speech planned out "These walls, sir, are so thin...") - well, that seemed to be the perfect moment for explaining that he was available to service those needs as well.

The problem with this methodology was that, though the walls were quite thin, he had not yet succeeded in finding an apt opportunity to introduce his young master to the wider range of his services.

Valets were supposed to be the pressure valve for the boiling hot young man's sexuality - but it seemed that Jeeves had a young man who merely simmered.

* * *

At first, it felt like things could stay this way forever.

The realization it couldn't began slowly. Jeeves would overhear Bertie singing his valet's praises and see, in passing, the knowing looks passed between his friends.

One of them offered him triple his current salary if Jeeves would make him "as happy as he made Bertie."

The first polite, then more insistent suggestion that the young master spend "less time with his valet and more with some girls". It was about then when Mrs. Gregson (as she was named at the time) began her aggressive ploy to have the young master married off. 

It was the back slaps and winking "If you aren't careful, you'll never get rid of him" jokes at the Junior Ganymede that were the last straw.

Jeeves had to find a way to explain it to him.

* * *

Jeeves didn't mean to kiss him.

It was improper to kiss ones employer without a direct request - and, even then, it was generally considered wise to keep things business.

It was a rare lapse in judgement, and one that Jeeves regretted deeply as soon as it was done.

After another afternoon of serving tea while his masters friends eyeballed him with a mixture of awe and desire - Jeeves had decided this was the time to explain.

He asked for permission to speak frankly - which Bertie gave gladly, turning his head towards Jeeves eagerly anticipating whatever frank words the man had to say.

"Sir, as you know my employment contract includes the statement that I am to perform 'additional duties as needed'. There is a tradition as to what those duties are..."

Jeeves suddenly noticed a crumb from tea or dinner (perhaps) that was living on the young man's cheek. It was a simple matter to brush the crumb off - and when Jeeves did, he noticed his employer's eyes dilate suddenly.

"Have I been asking too much of you?" Bertie asked.

Jeeves would have said he was able to maintain his _sang froid_ under any circumstances. Yet that young man's wide innocent eyes made the words leave him for a moment. He impulsively decided the smartest way to explain his additional services was to demonstrate them. His employers mouth, his smiling soft mouth, was right next to him and Jeeves pressed his lips against his employer's. He could feel the bubble of the soda from the bourbon and soda he had recently made. 

He realized his mistake immediately. His employer blushed and stammered. Instead of being charmed by his naivety, Jeeves was repulsed.

It was a simple matter to explain his actions away as an odd impulse and shimmer away.

In private, Jeeves seethed. How dare any young man be so innocent, so sheltered at the age of twenty-five - TWENTY-FIVE. At that age, Jeeves had been the plaything of an old man who wore stained flannel jackets to dinner.

He never dropped his basic duties for a moment but he stopped trying to introduce the young man to the additional ones.

* * *

He felt a resentment towards his employer that he knew was irrational. His employer wasn't so much sheltered as neglected by family that arranged for his physical needs without preparing him for the world he was to live in. Even knowing this, the valet delighted in causing his employer discomfort in small ways that couldn't be traced back to him - or if they were, could be explained away easily.

Bertie gave up his uglier trinkets to Jeeves as if giving offerings to a living god - and when he made these offerings, Jeeves softened, recognizing that the young man didn't make the world what it was and didn't deserve his wrath.

Things stayed this way until Jeeves finally went too far.

* * *

It wasn't physical pain from the bike ride that animated his employers genuine wrath, but a sense of betrayal.

If Jeeves were honest with himself, it was a nasty trick to wait until after everything was done to confess that the white mess jacket was damaged beyond repair. Perhaps this animated his desire to satisfy his employer. Perhaps he had other motivations.

Whatever the valet's reasons for offering - Bertie eagerly accepted the offer of a massage.

Towels covering the bed and a single one in the middle of the young man's form, Jeeves began with the back and shoulders. Felt the oil slide under his fingers, the young man's muscles melt under his fingers. Skipping the towel. Then, his back legs. The warm soft thighs massaged and slicked up. The slim fine calves - then the long feet twitching. 

Bertie moaned a little.

"Turn over, sir." 

Bertie hesitated only a moment, and then lifted the towel, readjusting it over the front half of his body. Even with his attempts to hide his excitement, the towel jumped occasionally as Jeeves massaged his chest. Jeeves only acknowledged the phenomena once when Bertie noticed his eyes looking at the towel's unmistakable wrinkle and apologized shakily.

"Its a perfectly natural response, sir." Then after giving the front half of his body the once over, "Would you prefer to be on your stomach, sir?"

Of course, the rather prudish young man did.

Jeeves didn't plan this - not consciously - but it all came together as perfectly as if he had planned every moment out.

When Bertie sat to adjust his position, he flinched a bit in pain at the soreness of his bottom.

To offer to remove the towel and care for the offending area was to be expected.

It was natural that during such intimate care, that perhaps a bit of oil might slide into a more hidden crease. It was simple and natural to use ones finger to wipe the offending oil drop. And when the young man shivered in desire....

Jeeves leaned in and spoke to him in almost a stage whisper.

"There is a more intimate type of massage, sir, you might find pleasing."

Bertie nodded. It was a simple bob of the head - a lift of the hips. 

Jeeves entered him with well lubricated fingers. A "more intimate" massage. That's the way he'd be trained to think of it. It was a simple act of service - no different, really, than massaging any other body part.

Whimpers.

"If there is pain, sir, don't hesitate to notify me. It shouldn't hurt."

Bertie had nothing to say to that, so Jeeves continued to massage and rub him until he found the spot. Bertie's whole body seemed to spasm.

"I think...." Bertie swallowed heavily. "I think I'm about to make a mess."

"That's what the towel is for, sir."

Jeeves hit the spot again and the massage was done.

The young man was too relaxed for a second bath, but a simple clean up with water and towel was enough until morning. Seeing the young man's sweet face slack in a satisfied sleep made Jeeves' stomach churn uncomfortably. Had he done something horrible? Had he taken advantage of his employers innocence?

He patted the hair that was still moist from the recent shower, and allowed himself to kiss the young man's forehead.

* * *

Things weren't too different between them after this. Bertie would occasionally ask for a "special massage" at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Jeeves stopped actively punishing his employer for his innocence, but was not above using the relaxed suggestible state his employer entered after a special massage to make... requests. It was no different, Jeeves told himself, than when his employer waited until an uncle had a good meal to make a request.

Jeeves could see himself in this position until he retired. 

Until, one day, Bertie came to the flat in a clear state. He threw the door open and slammed it shut. His eyes were filled with unshed tears.

He approached Jeeves with a violence that almost made the man back up despite himself. In exchange for the enforced habitual stillness, his right eyebrow raised slightly. 

"You were supposed to be doing things for me like those massages. That's your job. You're supposed to be doing that and way more. Things I didn't even know existed." The tears threatened to drop but stayed in place as if held only by his desire that they not. "Bingo Little told me! He said he missed his valet and his services sometimes and I asked what he meant and he explained it all." Bertie allowed himself a noisy sniff. "He said you've been taking advantage of me."

Jeeves had, quite naturally, prepared himself for this eventuality. 

"I apologize, sir, if my attention to my additional duties has been lacking. As you might recall, I attempted to offer my services early in our employment arrangement and you refused them. I only offered a more intimate massage after you requested it. I will, of course, perform or not any service you require."

Bertie fell limply into the chair, completely defused. He was not the Fooled - he was the Fool. The Fool who didn't know.

He was silent. Perhaps it was this silence and how unusual it was that prodded Jeeves into saying more.

"I'm sorry you were unaware of the nature of our arrangement, sir. May I ask what you thought was happening?"

The tears fell now, in defeat.

"I thought you..." the young man started. 'I thought you..."

He didn't finish.

Jeeves decided to let it go.


	2. Chinese Water Torture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie makes several bad decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no intention of continuing this - I started listing off the reasons I shouldn't and ended up talking myself into it.

They didn't speak of it.

Well, that isn't completely true. After he had slept off his original tears, Bertie asked a few curious questions - nothing Jeeves didn't expect.

"Do you generally enjoy your job? What's the strangest thing anyone has asked you to do? Is it true what they say about Lord W*********?"

But he wouldn't allow Jeeves to answer them after he asked.

"Nevermind, Jeeves. You don't need to talk about it."

"Thank you, sir."

Bertie tried not to think about it. He banished thoughts of those special massages out of his mind and tried to fill his time with his fellow Drones.

* * *

Bingo Little was an excellent player of hot potato. He had an natural instinct for when the music was going to stop and was something of a genius at making sure the "potato" was out of his hands in time.

The information he had on Bertie and his man was a very hot potato that he was not going to hold onto. His horror and concern when Bertie had first innocently described Jeeves "special massages" was quite genuine - but once he had established that Bertie was effectively unharmed he viewed the matter with some mild amusement. He had enough love for his friend to leave the more intimate details out, but he could not keep the information that Bertie didn't know the "additional duties" of his valet to himself. 

Their friends didn't think any less of Bertie for his ignorance. They'd known him his whole life - this seemed rather par for the course.

"Only Bertie." chuckled many an egg, bean and crumpet as the story spread around.

No one teased Bertie directly - no one intended to tease Bertie at all, really. If they'd known more, they would have been as the tomb on the subject. But the little they knew left the matter unsealed and the water crept in. Bertie heard about it almost daily - in some form or another. Drip. Drip. Drip.

* * *

"What is that thingy where a fellow gets tortured with drips of water?"

Bertie was fiddling with his morning crossword puzzle.

"I believe the expression you're looking for is 'Chinese Water Torture', sir." Bertie didn't write anything down. "How many letters, sir?"

"Oh, ah... I've got it, Jeeves."

He wrote something, but not in the crossword spaces.

* * *

Bertie was going to a nightclub called "The Sin of the Calf" - it was in an area of London he had tottered through many a day without noticing. A left turn in an alley, a particular door knock and a passphrase - information he had pulled together from a brief conversation with a particular fellow attendee of the alma mater who had been expelled for reasons no one discussed. 

Something wouldn't stop in his head. Drip. Drip. Drip. He couldn't talk to his friends anymore. All he heard was them saying what a fool he was for not knowing. He imagined them talking about it behind his back. Bingo had reassured him he hadn't told anyone about the massages, but Bingo was a sieve when it came to gossip. If he hadn't said anything yet, it was only a matter of time. He needed to talk to someone who wouldn't look at him with disgust and horror. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Normally it would be Jeeves without question. But in this case, Bertie needed to speak to someone else. Preferably, a stranger he'd never see again.

Bertie wore an oversized ragged coat he had gathered from an old bag of stage clothing stored at Drones with a hat that hid his face. He was a little worried he'd stand out, but it seemed that oversized coats and wide brimmed hats were quite the style at the "Sin of the Calf".

He was greeted almost immediately by a grouping of rather stout fellows who insisted on buying him a drink. He demurred, having personally witnessed the bartender spit into a glass and wipe it with a rather nasty looking rag before stashing it with the clean glasses.

"We always buy the new fellows a nice little drink." the one who seemed to be the leader insisted.

Bertie generously sidestepped the matter by buying a round for his new friends and soon found himself with a sympathetic audience. He left out identifying details but they seemed genuinely interested in listening to him talk about the massages. He felt a great deal better in hearing them acknowledge that yes, such a massage seemed quite pleasant. Saying it out loud and getting a response other than disgust and horror was like awakening to a new sunny day. Bertie was about to leave when one of his new friends accidentally spilled a drink on him.

"Now," the man said, "I must insist on you letting me buy you a drink."

Bertie allowed that one drink couldn't do any harm. He tossed it back, planning to leave immediately when the world got a bit woozy. Strong hands grabbed his shoulders. So many hands.

"Where do you live?"

He didn't remember answering, but he must have as he awoke the next morning in his flat.

Jeeves was there with a one of his special pick me ups in one hand and a cup of tea in the other looking rather more like a stuffed frog than usual. After the young master had refreshed himself, the man spoke.

"I'm afraid, sir, I must take a liberty."

Bertie was in good spirits - feeling freer than he had since his Conversation with Bingo.

"Take away, Jeeves." He said merrily, sipping at his fresh cuppa.

Jeeves visibly hesitated.

"I am not sure how to say this, sir. It is rather an awkward question. Do you remember anything about last night, sir?"

Bertie had only remembered how free he felt until this question.

"I was trying out a new club I'd heard about." His preplanned response if anyone asked. "They must mix their drinks rather stiffish," he added honestly, "as I only remember having the one."

"Sir, I believe you were slipped a Mickey Finn. I had assumed you were indisposed but when I changed your clothing for bed I realized that the smell of alcohol was on your clothing."

"One of them spilled a drink on me. It was a mistake anyone could make...."

"Yes, sir. The intention was to make sure you smelled of alcohol so that when the drug began to affect you, witnesses would assume you were intoxicated."

Bertie was confused.

"Why?"

Jeeves cleared his throat.

"Perhaps its best if I tell you what occurred. I was reading in the kitchen, sir, in anticipation of you needing my assistance on your return when I heard your door opening and multiple men enter. I was gathering glasses and supplies to serve your friends when I realized the conversation they were having was rather alarming. They were discussing you rather... intimately. Sir."

_"He won't be so tight after we've all done with him."_

_"He'll need at least two cocks in him."_

_"Plenty of time for that."_

_They laughed._

Jeeves didn't repeat any of this, but somehow his tone made the sense of the thing get through to Bertie.

"I say... they seemed like friendly fellows."

"I believe, sir, they habitually prey on new people in the club. Thankfully I had my kosh on hand and I took care of the matter rather readily."

They had their backs to the kitchen door- the y.m. dumped over the edge of the couch, his trousers around his ankles when Jeeves quietly entered the room. The first two he removed from the equation quickly as they were distracted by the third's examination of his employer's backside.

The third tried a bit of conversation.

"He told me he lived alone. I swear."

He might have escaped down the stairs if he hadn't already unbuckled the belt on his own trousers. Jeeves used the kosh to give some weight to a good crack to the man's jaw.

The doorman was called to report an attempted robbery - Jeeves arranging his employer into a more dignified position and placing incriminating evidence (some silver, some cash) by the men. He and the doorman agreed the police didn't need to be involved after the doorman noticed the trousers issue on number three. The doorman's brother happened to have stopped by after his latest boxing match and was more than happy to give the three men a little boxing lesson after they awoke. There were both well rewarded from the valet's discretionary fund for household duties.

Jeeves didn't tell Bertie any of this. The basics were enough to make the young man's blue eyes wide.

"I see." was all he said.

"Sir," Jeeves began.

"Thank you, Jeeves." Bertie said sharply. It was a dismissal. Drip.

Jeeves was not to be dismissed. Drip.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I must speak. The position of the valet is to prevent young men such as yourself from getting into such... situations. I would be doing you a disservice to not explain. If you have any questions or any curiosity about any intimate needs you might have, sir, I am here for you to discuss them. I promise that nothing you say or ask for will shock me, sir."

"I understand, Jeeves. I will keep that in mind." Drip.

Dismissed again, Jeeves went back to his work, troubled.

Bertie dressed and settled down with a detective novel as part of his mental preparations for lunch with his Aunt Agatha and the Lord Greaves.

He found himself unable to concentrate. He had a girl on his mind as he wiled away at his Christie novel - Lord Greaves' sister, Lady Gwendolyn.

In his younger years, he and his friends spoke of Lady Gwendolyn as the Girl in the Tower. Their families were somewhat friendly in a distant way with her brother, the early minted Lord Greaves being the current Head of Family. Bertie had barely a nodding acquaintance with the Lady - it seemed she was always at the top of a staircase or at the far end of a table. Distant, you see. In his younger years, Bingo had a mild romantic fascination with her as he had with almost every female in his acquaintance. Bertie suffered under many poems to the mysterious Girl in the Tower.

During this period Bertie had once wondered about her to Chuffy.

"Greaves keeps that poor girl under his thumb. I visited once and found her reading my detective novels." Chuffy shook his head as one who couldn't imagine a brother being so cruel. "Poor girl almost fainted when she realized I had caught her. It seems he only allows her 'improving books'. Begged me not to tell him, of course I didn't."

Bingo's fascination with the distant barely seen girl gave way to girls he saw in person and Bertie forgot about her. Now, Bertie found himself thinking about her all alone in that giant heap - without even a properly entertaining novel.

It was in this rather sympathetic strain that Bertie heard out his Aunt Agatha in advance of their meeting when she flatly ordered that he engage himself to the girl and marry her at once.

He agreed to meet her and her brother at lunch and possibly go for a walk in the park with her.

"That is all I promise." 

* * *

Lady Gwendolyn was a very pretty girl except for the fact that she seemed... toned down. Vague. When one looked right at her, one felt as if one were seeing her through a reflection in a dusty window from far away. Not so much drooping as withered and limp. One wanted to water her.

Lord Greaves did all the talking about dowries and family connections. It seemed that there was some land or something that would be made much larger if the Greaves and the Woosters agreed to plight their troth. Lady Gwendolyn spent lunch moving the food around on her plate and turning her roll into pills.

Aunt Agatha fixed her nephew with a cold stare.

"Well?"

Bertie suggested they take a stroll.

The aunt and the brother fell back - Bertie continued on with Lady Gwendolyn's small almost ethereal hand on his arm, when she spoke quietly and urgently.

"Please marry me." Bertie leaned in politely to listen more carefully as it all started to pour out of her as if someone had hit the bottom of a shaken bottle of champagne. "I'll be the best wife. The best little wife - I will never give you a moment's worry. I'm such a good girl. I'll do anything you want please please please..."

"Dear girl..." Bertie had a new view of the world after his recent experiences, "Is someone... hurting you?"

She glanced briefly back at the brother and Bertie watched her expression carefully.

"He doesn't mean to." She said quietly. "He only wants what's best for me but...."

Bertie nodded. He knew this song. If there was a male version of an Aunt (not an Uncle, as one might initially suspect) it was Lord Greaves. He'd never considered before, what his life might be like if he didn't have the freedom of a young man. He did now - and what he saw in his mind made him very sympathetic to the girl. Passed on from one guardian to another with only dollar signs in mind. For some reason his mind went to Jeeves and he shook off the thought. The girl has spent her whole life under a thumb - who might she be if the thumb were lifted? 

He made a decision and turned to the left suddenly.

"If you want to get married we'll get a special license right now."

And with that, they escaped their relatives to the courthouse.

* * *

When the license was signed with a gentle peck on the forehead to seal the deal, the color seemed to seep back into her face, slowly as if she were a sepia photo turning into color.

She was a regular chorus line with some proper color in her cheeks, Bertie noted to himself. For the second time since he had his Conversation with Bingo, he felt at peace.


	3. Under the Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie goes on his honeymoon while Jeeves decides what to do with himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: rough anal sex scene with mild spanking, hand tying and elements of dubious consent

Jeeves was performing his standard duties when his employer burst in with a young woman.

"Jeeves, I'm married." 

Jeeves was rarely surprised by his employer, but this gave him a moment's pause. The girl was rather conservative looking for his employers usual taste.

"Indeed, sir?"

"Pack my case for an extended trip to France. We'll let our Aunt Agatha and my new brother-in-law work out whatever they want for the money matters, eh?"

"What will I wear, Mr..." she paused and then said with some effort, "Bertie."

"We'll buy you a new wardrobe in Paris, darling. Might be a little flashy for London, but lets have some fun while we're in Europe. We can gather up whatever you want of your old things when we return."

Jeeves couldn't exactly ask the young master directly what the hell was going on. 

"Sir... Would you require my assistance with anything else?"

"No, Jeeves, I'm afraid I won't. I assume your policy of working for married men hasn't changed but I'll pay out your year, of course."

Jeeves packed the bags and the newlyweds left in a rush. Even with their hurry, their cab was directly ahead of the one carrying Lady Worplesdon and Lord Greaves back to Mr. Wooster's flat.

It was chaos, for a little while. Lady Worplesdon and Lord Greaves both required assurance that a marriage had actually taken place for one thing. Once the event was confirmed, publicized, the information generally disseminated, Jeeves closed up the Wooster household at Berkeley Mansions. His former employer telegramed instructions to arrange - not only to pay out his valet's notice period but a retirement annuity on his behalf. It was common for newly married men to leave particularly long term valets such things, but this was usually a part of the secondary contract with strict guidelines around years of service. They never had such a contract.

Jeeves was not quite a man of leisure, but with the payout and the annuity he had the savings to take a proper vacation. He chose Paris. Not because that was where his late employer and his new wife were honeymooning. Not at all. The young man was no longer Jeeves' responsibility. If he chose to get married suddenly, that was his own concern. His reasons were his own and Jeeves required no explanation. 

No, Jeeves chose Paris because he knew Paris. He knew the establishments that would allow him to sit with a glass of semi-expensive wine and relax for hours and the ones that would shuffle him next to the kitchen. The places that spoke English, the places that would tolerate poorer French and the places where anything less than perfection was scoffed at. That his late employer was predictable and could easily be followed and seen was of no draw whatsoever.

Jeeves consciously didn't avoid his former employer. To do so would be a form of weakness. It would be admitting sentiment. Yet, when he saw the young man and his new bride picnicking at the park, the valet made no effort to attract their attention nor did he move on with his plans for the day. He watched the newlyweds - the new bride with freshly bobbed, peroxided and marcelled hair reading a detective novel and smoking a cigarette. The quiet almost transparent wisp of a girl transformed into a young woman who glowed with bonny buxom life. The groom relaxed behind her, his long legs stretched on the blanket comfortably and intimately close to her. He had already given in to his more colorful impulses - his tie matched her mauve and magenta dress so perfectly they must have come from the same dye lot. He was reading over her shoulder and occasionally pointing to the "good bits". They were a visually appealing couple.

He didn't know what he expected. That Mr. Wooster would fall apart without him? That he would find his former employer pale and starved in tattered clothing, hoping that Jeeves had come to care for him again?

~~And yet....~~

And yet, what? 

Jeeves didn't probe these thoughts further.

* * *

Reginald Jeeves had never thought about who he was sexually attracted to. His own personal tastes and preferences were never something he'd considered. When he desired personal sexual release, his feet mechanically went to the areas where men serviced other men out of habit. A desire for the Familiar.

He was merely out for a walk that evening. A walk that happened to take him directly by his former employers hotel. He was on way back when he saw the teal socks with the lavender clocks. He told himself it was the unusual and striking color combination that attracted his attention. There was nothing else distinctive about the young man who was clearly eyeballing for trade. The trousers were much mended and several inches too short, the waistcoat too tight and missing buttons, the jacket was made for a larger framed man. His bow-tie didn't match anything and was knotted poorly. One assumed the shirt under these mismatched externals was stained if it was even a full shirt. The man hid his face with a scarf and a rather battered wide brimmed hat. Jeeves wondered if some poor valet had used this fellow to remove his master's objectionable socks and scarf from the wardrobe and was rather amused at the idea. He didn't realize he was giving the man once over so obviously until the fellow spoke to him in easy French.

_"Do you like what you see?"_

The young man was of a build similar to his former employer - about the same height - thinner but not distractingly so. A mustache temptingly peaked at the valet over the eccentrically colored scarf. Perhaps this would help him extract whatever residual sentiment had entered his soul and allow him to enjoy his retirement.

_"How much?"_

A price was negotiated and they separated momentarily to discreetly meet again under a nearby bridge that was not unaccustomed to such uses. It was an out of the way path only available when the weather is just so - not obvious to passersby with convenient support beams at varying heights for... leverage.

The Frenchman was waiting when Jeeves discreetly slipped off the main path to the darkness. In a few moments the young man would have his trousers around his knees, bent at the waist - one hand against the concrete wall the other holding onto a friendly beam. Jeeves couldn't remember the last time his cock had been so hard. He had never allowed himself satisfaction after he had massaged the young master. It was indecent to allow oneself to become personally excited. And yet... 

(and yet, what?)

He would allow himself the fantasy. This once. Get it out of his system. The warm body in front of him was a perfectly acceptable substitute.

" _I would like to tie you up - I will do so loosely so you can escape quickly if the police come._ "

" _Oui._ "

" _Do you speak English?_ "

There was a slight pause.

" _Non._ "

"Good." 

He was planning to say some things in English that he hoped the Frenchman wouldn't understand.

" _Oui?_ "

" _Say '_ Yes, sir.' _when I speak to you in English._ _'_ "

"Yessir."

"Perfect."

"Yes, sir." He imitated Jeeves accent this time. He almost sounded English.

"It is not surprising." Jeeves began crisply in English, "that I would find you in such dire need of my services."

"Yes, sir."

"I am out of your employment for a mere two months and in that short period of time this is what I find. Not only is your current raiment completely inappropriate for a young man of your station, but you have the nerve to mix it with _those._ " He put the full loathing into the word.

"Yes. Sir."

"Off with the socks, young man."

"Yessir."

It took a bit of pantomime to get the _faux_ Bertie to understand what was wanted of him, but soon the socks were off. The jacket came next - without its deforming distraction it was almost uncanny how much the slim form looked like his former employer. Jeeves already had the angle he wanted in mind - both hands went up on the highest beam the long arms could reach from the best midwaist beam (a local favorite if the nearby litter was of any indication) so the young man would have a little leverage and control but also would allow Jeeves rather free access to his body. Currently the young man had to stretch and stand on his tip toes to not hold up his weight with his arms - but he would not need to for long. 

"You need to be taught a lesson in proper fashion of a man of your status. Those trousers are inappropriate and must come off." He then suited the deed to the word, discovering with some amusement the young man wasn't wearing any smalls.

" _Oui._ Yes, sir."

Jeeves gave the bare bottom a smack. There was not much to the slim buttocks but they trembled satisfyingly.

He leaned in closely to whisper in _faux_ Bertie's ear.

"What are you doing out on the street like a common street walker, you naughty little boy? "

He gave the man another slap and cupped the slim bottom in his hand.

' _Oui. Oui... yessir._ "

He felt the other man's hard cock - it was long and slim and turned up at the head ever so slightly. It was a lovely cock and for a moment Jeeves almost considered it a waste to not get a ride on it. He gave it a couple of gentle slaps and the young man shuddered - instinctively turning his head when Jeeves looked up at his face. Jeeves would, of course, respect his wish to not be seen, but Mr. Wooster had always been so... expressive the lack would leave something to be desired. Still, nothing to be done.

He prepared himself as he continued to whisper to him - as if speaking too loudly might break the universe.

"I bet you're still a virgin, aren't you - you naughty little thing. Out here on the street selling that sweet arse of yours as if its worthless. Why any fellow here could have his way with you... I could go out right now and get a line of fellows of the street to have their way with you."

"Yes, sir." The breathing was getting labored - his thin legs were already getting tired - Jeeves used the leverage this position offered him to lift the young man and position the slim body right at the head his cock. The young man caught on surprisingly quickly - or perhaps not so surprisingly if this were old hunting ground for him. Soon they were in a position that was almost equally comfortable and uncomfortable for them both but had the advantage of his ass cheek being in Jeeves hands allowing him to ease entry.

" _Are you ready?"_

" _Oui."_ came the response.

He began to enter him. The position they were in allowed _faux_ Bertie to pull himself up if he needed to change angle or to slow things down, but still encouraged gravity to pull him down further onto the cock. The young man was more clean smelling than the patchwork of mismatched clothing suggested he would be - his skin the soft texture of one who has never had to work with harsh chemicals. Not quite the rough trade he first appeared to be. It all seemed to come in on Jeeves at once, the sounds the other man made - the smells... the hands gripping the socks gave him a strange sense of deja vu. For the first time he began to doubt his own senses, as every sense he had was telling him quite loudly and clearly that the warm body he held in his arms was in fact his former employer. He was not capable of putting this information into any usable format - sexy talk aside, the idea of his employer as a man who would pick up a stranger off the street and have sex under a bridge was so outside of his frame of reference as to be the ramblings of a madman. Mr. Wooster was a newlywed and a confirmed simmerer. Men who simmer do not do such things.

Far from these thoughts exciting any curiosity, they rather encouraged a rush of blood from that active brain to currently active cock. He attributed these thoughts and feelings to the *moment* - to the unlocking of a long held rush of words expressing repressed urgees that made his desires real out of whole cloth. He ravaged the young man as if he were punishing him for being young and beautiful. He might have even said the words - there were a lot of words that came out of his mouth in a long chain of lusty commands and physical adjustments. He might have told him this is what he gets for being young and beautiful and there. But in between that was also lean to the left and move your right foot there and this is what you get for being so beautiful. For being so young and alive. Finally they found the angle and rhythm where their bodies danced together in mutual pleasure. It was then when Jeeves mind finally came up with the solution of how the hands gripping the socks seemed so familiar. Mr. Wooster had bought a scarf that was a twin of the scarf this young man was wearing. He was sure of it. He couldn't think out the consequences. He had to know.

"See Mr. Wooster," he whispered in the man's ear as he watched the red head of the cock bouncing in his fist, "you see what happens when you do what I tell you?"

"YesJeeves." 

He heard it as clearly as if it were actually coming from the person in front of him who shuddered and trembled as both of their cocks found satisfaction. When he could think, when he could rationalize - he would tell himself that the young man had merely said " _Oui"_ and his own lust addled brain had heard what it wanted to. In the moment he was rather distracted from reflection and logical thoughts. Jeeves stood there stunned for a moment, grabbing the beam so that his own knees didn't buckle.

With a speed that seemed to belie the intensity of orgasm, the young man removed his wrists from the improvised shackles and punched Jeeves in the stomach, the non-punching hand removing the contents of an adjacent waistcoat pocket. The thief started to leave without his trousers before he realized his error and slipped them back on holding them up as he raced off all limbs and arms like a frightened deer.

He had left his shoes and socks.

Jeeves sat stunned for a few moments. Mr. Wooster wouldn't have acted so. He felt the doubt ( ~~if it had been him that was precisely...~~ ) No. No. It was clearly just a streetwalker or maybe someone's kept lover having some fun. He found the hat thrown into a nearby trash can. He didn't want to know. He had to leave Paris that night. He had to make sure he never saw Mr. Wooster again. The moment he saw the young man's face, he would know. He didn't know what he wanted - if he feared he had savagely ravaged his employer or hoped. He didn't allow himself to think on it any more. 

He hadn't lost much in money - he hadn't kept much more than he'd offered the Frenchman in his waistcoat pocket, but his pocket-watch - his grandfather's pocket-watch. That was now only a broken chain. If he'd been looking for sex he never would have chanced its loss. If he hadn't been so blinded by immediate lust... Jeeves left the broken chain in his pocket as a lesson. 

Jeeves' one lifesaver was clinging to the idea that in spite of formal lessons in childhood and many casual visits to the city his former employer spoke no comprehensible French.

* * *

Jeeves had spent the last six months at a cottage on the land owned by his nephew by marriage. His niece Mabel insisted they had held it for him and him alone, next to the lake. It was a pleasant and peaceful enough life, though he missed London.

His grand-nephews and niece - particularly the youngest boy - seemed to view him with an open mouthed awe. They were pleasant and well behaved children (most of the time) but they intruded on his peace more often than he liked. He had never particularly cared for children.

Jeeves didn't see returning to London as an option. Too likely to see Mr. Wooster. Even here, he was taking his chances. It would only take a request at the Jr. Ganymede to find his location. Sometimes during the day he feared his former employer would suddenly appear - begging for his help in some minor matter. Perhaps a new cousin had shown up and wouldn't leave. Maybe his wife would try to force him to leave Drones. Sometimes at night Jeeves fantasied about it - in those thoughts the things Mr. Wooster needed help with were much more intimate. It seemed his little escapade had far from removed whatever sentiment he refused to acknowledge. It seemed to have set it into his soul more deeply - pressing its imprint on him as sand into hot wax. 

When his niece informed him that she'd heard from her husband that the Woosters were expecting a happy event, Jeeves snapped at her peevishly that if he wanted information like that he would read the Society papers himself. He hadn't even realized how he sounded until he saw her startled face.

"I always thought you liked Mr. Wooster." was all she said.

On this particular morning, he'd been deciding if the only thing he needed was to go on another holiday. It was the time of year he generally went and perhaps it was the upheaval of his schedule that kept him feeling like his skin was on too tight.

He had the phone receiver in his hand when a telegram came that had him packing without hesitation.

The return address was Brinkley Court. The message read:

> WIFE GONE.
> 
> NEED YOU.
> 
> PLEASE COME.

It was not until he was on the train that he noticed the person who had signed the missive was not Mr. Wooster, but Mrs. Travers. As he placed the telegram back in his pocket he felt the broken watch chain and his stomach clenched in desire or fear or some godawful feeling that mixed both.

He felt like an arrow shot from its bow. The only thing he could do was follow its arc to his destination.


	4. Widowers Weeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie's wife has passed on in childbirth
> 
> CW: ref to pregnancy and death in childbirth

Bertram Wilberforce Wooster has had a very bad... well he wasn't sure how long it had been. But whatever measurement of time it had been - things only seemed to be getting worse.One would hate to think of what would have happened if the Bingos hadn't decided to take the announcement of Wooster upcoming happy event as an invitation to join them in France. Wendy (he tried Gwen, but they agreed Wendy was the one that felt right) and Rosie became instant best friends. Bingo took him out for drinks and would reassure Bertie that he will hardly notice the kid is around with proper help while Rosie helped the mother-to-be arrange the dainty details.

When he got the News, Bingo was right there with a drink for him. Good old Bingo. He was there with a drink when Bertie called his brother-in-law to tell him the sad news and dealt with the man's odd questions about whether the child had died in utero or after birth. It was Bingo who took the receiver from him and told the fellow what-for when Bertie started to stammer with confusion. When his Aunt Agatha told him that he looked ridiculous wearing mourning because he hadn't even been married a year ( _you had your valet longer than you were married_ ), it was Rosie who locked horns with her while Bingo took him out for another drink and kept him well pickled until he could be deposited into his Aunt Dahlia's waiting arms at Brinkley Court.

Had it been a month? Time didn't seem to work right anymore. Time stretched so that he waited at the hospital a week, but somehow its snapped back again and he had transported to London again within seconds as if time were acting as an advertisement for suspenders. He checked the calendar but it was blurry. The symbols on it had no meaning. 

Today he didn't even have getting properly blotto to look forward to as his Aunt Agatha required his signature to be somewhat legible on whatever settlement she and his late brother-in-law had decided over the dowry. Aunt Dahlia had ordered him to not be served anything stronger than orange juice and it was lucky that Bertie had begun a secret stash in anticipation of such an event or he would have not been able to sit as his dear relatives fought one last time over the matter of whether a child was technically born of the marriage given the circs.

It sounded like someone else who started screaming for them to stop. Stop. STOP IT. when they began to discuss intimate medical details he didn't want to know. A hand plucked his elbow and a calm warm voice suggested they leave the paperwork and he will send it on after it was properly signed. It was like Jeeves was a guardian angel come to save him.

Bertie barely had the time to register his Aunt's exclamation of how she'd never... and his late brother-in-law's response was only a low rumble as Jeeves led him back to his bedroom where a hot tea was already awaiting him. For a moment, Bertie wondered why he ever left Jeeves. The valet had already cleared the room of the signs that a man who hadn't done much more than cry and drink had lived there and somehow done that thing where everything felt _right._

After drinking his tea, Bertie felt ready to return to bed - staying awake just long enough to stuff a pocket-watch wrapped in a teal and lavender scarf in a hidden spot under his mattress.

* * *

Bertie wasn't aware of much for a while. The days were a haze of waking up and having a hot fluid of some sort (sometimes tea - sometimes a filling broth) placed in his face until he drank it - occasionally caring for other physical necessities - but always ending with Bertram asleep again.

Then, one day, Bertie woke up and heard the birds singing and somehow Jeeves knew that was the Day. The young master was dressed decanted into breakfast, lunch and finally dinner with the family. He managed to appear normal enough that by the final meal the worry had relaxed from his Aunt Dahlia's face and even his Uncle Tom seemed glad to have him as company.

That day he was informed that he had never fully rid himself of his old flat and Jeeves had taken the liberty of pulling his things from storage. His old life ready for him to step into like a custom made suit.

Jeeves always knew what he wanted.

* * *

The fellows at Drones were happy enough to take him back. Many of them had no idea he had even been married.

Bingo looked at Bertie with a strange sympathy - as if he were missing a body part or was irretrievably broken in some unspoken manner. Thankfully since Bingo Little had gotten a job as editor at _Tiny Tots_ , avoiding him was easy enough.

"The Littles have sent you an invitation to dinner, sir."

"Tell them I'm busy that night."

"Sir?" Jeeves raised his eyebrow knowing full well his employer was not busy.

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion on my social life."

Bertie spoke to Jeeves only as much as was necessary for him to manage the household. The easy chats they once had were replaced with silence. The silence was so loud that Bertie almost couldn't sleep at night. After a few days of this, a phonograph player appeared in the living room. It played throughout the day whenever Bertie was present - never so loud that it obscured conversation but never so quiet that it irritated the ear. The music was always perfect, because of course it was. Whenever Bertie decided he wanted to change the record, he would often find that record was already playing with the song he wanted to hear coming up next.

Sometimes it became enraging.

* * *

Bertie tried too hard to be his old self. To continue as if his heart had never been dealt a blow.

He became sharp around the edges.

His smile an open wound.

He started to become cartoonishly garish in his dress - reds appearing in all shades in every accessory as if the visible wound of a bleeding heart.

* * *

Jeeves had accepted a set of developed photographs that had arrived in the post from Paris, much maligned with forwarding addresses but otherwise unharmed by their journey.

It was not his place to look at them - he did.

A pair of feminine feet.

A wall.

A candid photo of Mr. Wooster reaching out to the photo taker, a smile on his face.

A candid photo of Mrs. Wooster much as she looked on the day of their marriage - her overly eager smile seeming to threaten to merge into hysteria.

Mrs. Wooster freshly coiffed and awkward in unfamiliar fashions - poised as if uncertain what to do with herself in a garden. 

Jeeves efficiently flipped past a number of blurry and double exposed photos before he found It.

Mr. and Mrs. Wooster sitting on a blanket looking much like they did on the day that Jeeves had seen them relaxed with a book - posing for some third party.

That was the one.

There were more - the two at the tail end showcasing a glowing Mrs. Wooster's growing waistline were set aside as potentially upsetting.

But the picnic photo was the one that would do for Jeeves' purposes.

* * *

If there were any hopes that Bertie would miss the newly framed photo and accept it as part of the landscape of his apartment - they were dashed immediately. He went straight to it, pointing accusingly as if it were a blot.

"What is this?" He asked sharply.

Jeeves looked up as if unconcerned from his dusting.

"Sir?"

"This framed photograph." He spit out the last word.

"I believe you'll have to ask Mrs. Travers. She requested I find a place for it. She also sent an envelope I left on your desk for your to peruse at your convenience." This was a lie from one end to the other but he was certain Mrs. Travers would back up his version of events if necessary. "I apologize for the liberty, sir, she seemed to think some minor remembrance might lighten your burden."

"I'm supposed to believe that?" His employer asked icily.

Bertram W. Wooster looked his valet directly in the eye and without breaking eye contact, dropped the frame and photo into the nearest garbage can. It bounced in then out again.

Bertie didn't pick it up.

* * *

It was a particularly pleasant day with particularly peaceful music playing the day Jeeves set out several pairs of socks for his employer to choose from as he prepared for the day. Bertie treated the process very seriously - picking up and examining each pair with a care that belied the fact they both knew he was going to choose the ruby colored pair that clashed horribly with the crimson spats he had already chosen to Jeeves' visible disgust. 

He picked up the brown - held it to the light. Compared it to the spats. The ruby. Jeeves flinched slightly as his employer held them up admiringly. Then he picked up the third pair - teal with lavender clocks. He dropped them instantly as if they burned his fingers.

"Sir?" Prompted Jeeves, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"You knew?" Bertie was very still. They were clean and soft with only some warping in the threads showing their previous use.

"I found that pair," Jeeves noted, "and thought you would appreciate them. I believe you have a scarf that matches them, do you not?"

"You're fired." There was no anger and heat. Jeeves had been prepared for that. No tears and recriminations. He had been prepared for that too. What he wasn't expecting was this flatness. Mr. Wooster was becoming something he couldn't predict - was it possible somewhere his premises had been wrong?

"Mr. Wooster, I apologize. I am not in your employ." Jeeves took in a deep breath. "I am Mrs. Travers' employee caring for you on her behalf. If you care to explain to her why you would like to have me released from my position..."

It was a cruel gambit - but Jeeves considered it a matter of being cruel to be kind - as if he were snapping a broken bone into its proper place.

Bertie looked at him blankly for a moment, before putting on his hat, grabbing an overcoat, and walking out the door without anything on his feet.


	5. The Red Shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bertie tries to explain himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote each previous chapter in twenty-four hours with absolutely no overarching plan and I forgot the idea I originally had for an ending.  
> I figured if I kept writing this one it would get weird.

Jeeves hoped that his employer would return to abashedly put his shoes on at the very least. If he did, Jeeves would try to get him to drink something before he left - slip him a mickey and then get Dr. Glossop. The plan he had made with Mrs. Travers if he ever became concerned that Mr. Wooster had become suicidal. He would then resign. Mrs. Travers would require explanations. but he already had the ticket purchased to America. Even she wouldn't follow him to America. Perhaps he would travel. Perhaps he would stay in New York and valet the American way - they didn't seem to be aware of the additional duty clause.

Mr. Wooster did not return.

Jeeves intended to perform his normal duties after settling, but when the telephone rang its bell he dropped the glass he had been thoughtlessly washing and re-washing and raced to pick up the receiver. 

"Wooster, residence?"

It was Mr. Little's voice that answered.

"Jeeves, he did come here. Those photos must have really done a number on him."

"I misjudged the situation. I apologize, sir."

"We don't need to involve a doctor, I don't think."

"Of course not, sir." Jeeves seemed mildly shocked at the idea. The other man let out an audible breath.

"Don't tell him I called you - he asked me not to."

"No, sir." Jeeves replied.

He put the receiver gingerly back into the cradle. He started calling Mrs. Travers momentarily before putting the receiver down again, as if it burned him.

* * *

Mr. Little arrived the next morning and was pleased to find that Jeeves already had an overnight case ready for his employer. After a bit of waffling, Mr. Little accepted Jeeves invitation for a drink before he left.

With a few stiffish drinks under his belt and one of Mr. Wooster's special cigarettes in hand, the fellow was ready to chat a bit.

"Poor Bertie. He says every day is like Chinese water torture. Frankly I thought he'd be relieved. He'd gotten out of it."

It seemed a rather callous thing to say but Jeeves didn't show any sign of these thoughts directly.

"He seemed rather fond of his wife, sir. Most widowers are rather saddened at the loss of a child even if they were ambivalent about its arrival. " Jeeves offered.

"Its not even like it was his." This little bomb was dropped as the cigarette was smoked meditatively. Jeeves hid his reaction by refilling the glass, again. "I assume he told you all about it." Mr. Little added this as an afterthought. Jeeves affirmed with a small noise that indeed, Mr. Wooster had already told him about it. He suspected Mr. Little wouldn't require much encouragement to continue.

"He doesn't even know I know. Rosie told me and I had to pretend I'd already spoken to him about it."

"I can appreciate the awkwardness of your position, sir."

"He could've warned a chap."

"I don't believe he told me about your place in the matter, sir." Jeeves didn't put it in the form of a question - if he had Mr. Little might have thought more about what he was saying.

"He told Wendy... Mrs. Wooster that I had given him the birds and the bees talk." Mr. Little shook his head. "She told Rosie and Rosie was proud of me for handling it with what she called 'grace and maturity'."

"I see, sir."

"I can see what he was thinking, of course. It was the right thing to do given the circs. Bertie always has had the highest standards of how he treats the fairer sex. I'm not going to press the poor fellow about it."

"Sir, may I carry the overnight bag for you to Mr. Wooster?"

Bingo couldn't think of any reason why not. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember why Bertie hadn't had Jeeves bring his bag to begin with.

* * *

Jeeves appeared in the guest bedroom consciously making a small amount of noise to alert his former employer of his presence.

"Leave the suitcase by the door, Jeeves."

Bertie was laying facedown on the bed. He made no move to acknowledge Jeeves' presence.

The suitcase was set down - but since he wasn't directly requested to leave, Jeeves stayed closing the door behind him.

"Did she tell you about the happy event that night, sir?"

"I remember a story when I was a child about a girl who wore red... somethings. They made her dance uncontrollably."

"Red shoes, sir. It was a story by Hans Christian Anderson, I believe..."

"You were following us." Bertie interrupted "You were purposefully going places you know I love, I saw you. I think I saw you more times than you saw me."

Jeeves began to defend himself and stopped.

"I only saw you once, sir."

"You were watching us. I had been going out for a week at that point. I had been observing those fellows - what they say, how they act, where they go. I had made a deal for this one chap's spot. He let me have his clothes and told me everything I wanted to know. False mustache. I'd seen you walking by my favorite spots. It would only be a matter of time before you walked by. I wanted to see."

"Sir... I..."

"I practiced my French with random coves," Bertie continued relentlessly. "I had been practicing a week before you came by. I thought I had gotten pretty good at it. I probably should have practiced some of the other things but I didn't like any of them. So, I punched them in the stomach and took their wallets. Each of his wallets. No, I'm not saying this right."

"I understand the basics, sir."

"To answer your question, no. She hadn't told me, yet."

"You hadn't yet consummated the marriage." Jeeves stated blandly.

Bertie laughed and Jeeves felt a chill go up his spine. It was a distorted version of the laugh he knew so well.

"I thought she was a sweet innocent girl who probably hadn't even heard hushed whispers about a marital act."

"I see, sir."

"So imagine my surprise when she shows up in my bed in the altogether the first night we signed the license. I told her that we should wait - that we barely knew each other." Bertie paused. "If I'd known... if it occurred to me it was anything like that I would have done it to avoid the conversation we had later where she finally told me. It was dashed unpleasant. I didn't know what to do with myself. I didn't know what to say. What can you say?"

"I appreciate the difficulty, sir." 

"I felt like she knew what I had done that night. Like she could smell it on me." Bertie whispered this so quietly that Jeeves almost could pretend he didn't hear him. More loudly he said, "She only wanted to please me. I could never tell what she actually liked versus what she thought I liked. I like to think she enjoyed herself going out with me to the theater. She was a sweet girl. If I could have been happy with anyone, it would have been her. Too bad we didn't meet two months earlier. Of course, she might not have been as desperate to remove herself from her brother. He wouldn't have been easy on the poor girl. As it was, he directly accused me of tearing the petals from the finest rose in England. Treated me like I was some sort of lust crazed monster. I allowed it, because I was..." Bertie choked on these last words..

"Sir..." Jeeves began.

"I know you would have done anything I asked." The former employer hissed with a sudden viciousness. "I wanted someone... I wanted to be wanted. But I also loved those massages." Bertie's tone changed to be more neutral. "It was Rosie who convinced her she should tell me how the child came to be. I guess the poor girl had to tell someone. I had to pretend that Bingo explained the facts of life to me so she'd stop trying to tell me what happened. I didn't want to know. I told her that she was my wife and it was my baby and that is all that mattered."

"Quite admirable, sir."

"Not quite." Bertie noted. "I had asked for an annulment, Jeeves."

"I see...sir."

"That's why she had to tell me she was expecting. I couldn't... I couldn't ignore it any longer. I needed to go back to you. I needed those massages and I wanted to try those other things. I pretended I thought women ended up in the family way mysteriously when people were married because I didn't know what else to say to her. I knew at that point I was... I couldn't." 

At this confession, he turned his body so he was completely facing away from Jeeves.

"I thought I could ignore it and focus on her. Focus on caring for her. I think I could have but... sometimes I wished this would happen." Bertie sniffed again. "I wished that I could go back to my life as if she were a minor interruption in it."

Jeeves put a fine point on it.

"What are you mourning, sir?"

Bertie didn't say anything for a long moment.

"If I wore the red shoes, I'd have to cut my feet off."

Suddenly Jeeves knew what Bertie needed to hear.

"I would carry you, sir."

Bertie nodded slowly.

"Take me home, Jeeves."


End file.
